Turning Tables
by TinaBanina96
Summary: In the halls of his own home he finds himself trapped. He can choose to turn away now, avoid the confrontation that is sure to occur… but doing that would be too let Gilbert walk away, leave his home and never come back. Songverse Continuity.
1. Part One

**Title:** Turning Tables**  
****Author: **TinaBanina96**  
****Summary:** In the halls of his own home he finds himself trapped. He can choose to turn away now, avoid the confrontation that is sure to occur… but doing that would be too let Gilbert walk away, leave his home and never come back. Companion fic to _Someone Like You_

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**AN:** **Well here it is! Companion fic to **_**Someone Like You**_**. Just a reminder: This is a companion fic. It's not a direct sequel (and is in fact, set a little bit before **_**Someone Like You)**_**, and there will be similarities, but ultimately, this is Austria's story, not Prussia's. However, I promise you that this may not make sense unless you have read Chapter 5 of **_**Someone Like You. **_**For those who have read both **_**Someone Like You**_** and **_**Somebody That I Used To Know**_**, the latter is more of a sequel, and will hopefully start to make more sense after I complete this fic.**

**DISCLAIMER: ****Neither Hetalia nor Turning Tables is the property of myself. Both belong to their respective owners.**

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**Part One**

_**18**__**th**__** October, 1748**_

_It is strange to think he was built for war, when, to be frank, most of the time he simply does not know how to fight it. There are those moments, of course, when he feels like he is doing something, feels like for once he is winning, but these moments are brief and far between._

_He has spent 8 years of his life fighting this particular battle, and for what? His Archduchess, (who at least has now gained the right to rule)? His pride (that stupid thing that had brought many a lesser man to his doom)? So many lives… so much time…_

_Status quo ante bellum – the state in which things were before the war. Supposedly, everything will go back to the way it was, after this treaty is signed. He is not stupid though. He is certainly smart enough to feel the aura of change that is growing stronger._

_After all, he is the one giving something up today. _

"_Edelstein."_

"_Kirkland."_

_The blond nation nods once, before gesturing towards the door in front of them. He can tell the Englishman is nervous, from the way his foot is tapping incessantly on the ground and the clipped tone of his voice._

"_We should be heading in now. They'll be waiting."_

_He catches the barest hint of a scowl flash across Kirkland's face, and is almost amused. In the 17 years they have been allied, Kirkland has still not learnt to hide his innermost thoughts. _

"_So let them wait."_

_His own response is carefully constructed, so not to let the slightest emotion taint it. No one needs to know how utterly… disgusting he feels._

_Kirkland simply shrugs, and acknowledges his reluctance. He of all people knows that the moment they head through that door, is the moment they admit defeat._

_Neither of them have ever been very good at that._

_**July 1868**_

"...what do you want?"

He can hear her voice drifting down the hallway, and the silence that follows her simple question. Elizaveta is not alone, it seems.

He continues walking down the familiar corridor, intentionally making his steps quieter as not to disturb his wife. He had intended to find her as soon as he got home, but she has visitors.

He is on the brink of changing his course when he hears the reply to Elizaveta's question.

"Nothing. I don't want anything from you."

_**18**__**th**__** October, 1748**_

"_How long do you think we can make them wait before they send someone to force us in there?"_

_He is interrupted before he has a chance to answer the Englishman's question._

"_Long enough." _

"_Spain." Kirkland's eyes narrow at the appearance of the Spaniard, who is unusually serious. _

"_Why the formality? Come, Arthur, we have stalled too long."_

_Kirkland is glowering as Antonio gestures at the door, but makes his way into the room nonetheless. He slams the door after him._

_With the Englishman gone, Antonio's face softens. This is a look more familiar to him, a gentle smirk gracing his tanned face._

"_Roderich."_

"_Antonio. Could they not find a servant to collect us? Or did they think we would refuse to enter the room without ... personal intervention?"_

"_Would you believe I chose to walk out myself?"_

"_Only you would."_

"_As arrogant as ever, Roderich. I mean that in the best possible way."_

"_Of course you do."_

_Antonio's face breaks into a real smile, one that is a little bitter, but a smile nonetheless. The Spaniard's words are somehow comforting, even though at this present moment, they should hate each other._

"_You seem insistent on staying out here."_

"_Give me one reason why I should walk through that door."_

"_Roderich... you always did hate to lose."_

"_If-when I walk through that door, I know what is facing me. It's defeat, Antonio. Defeat, and the pity-filled faces of you gloating 'victors'."_

"_So you're afraid?"_

"_Afraid of Francis and Prussia? Of course not. I would simply rather not be in their presence."_

"_Would you rather fight forever? This treaty means an end to this war, you know. You walk in, sign the treaty, and we can all walk out of that room, no longer enemies."_

_He can't seem to find an appropriate reply as Antonio fixes on him with those bright green eyes._

"_You're letting your pride get in the way, Roderich. You always have."_

_**July, 1868**_

The words halt him in his tracks, conjuring up images of a face and a smile that he has gone a long time without. A face (most likely without the smile- he recognises the pained control in the man's voice) that is here, in his home, speaking to his wife.

Why?

Before he knows it, he has resumed walking, taking too loud footsteps that seem to echo in the silence that lingers after the man's last answer.

"This is about Rod-"

"Don't say it."

Elizaveta's voice is quickly cut off by a barked reply. Cut off in the middle of... his name?

"Oh, Gilbert..."

His suspicions – no, his knowledge, for he knows that voice too well for there to be any doubt in his mind about the man's identity- are confirmed.

_**18**__**th**__** October, 1748**_

_As he follows Antonio into the room, he is not surprised to see Kirkland and Francis in the midst of a verbal sparring match, which for once, seems to halt immediately as soon as they notice his presence._

"_Did you enjoy your little chat out there?" Kirkland's scowl seems to amuse Francis. "Trust me, I had a jolly time in here."_

"_My apologies." _

"_Oh, hush Roderich mon ami. There is no need for apologies! Arthur and I were having a good time in here."_

"_Toni. Glad you finally dragged the princess in here. Any longer and I'm pretty sure these two would have been going at it on the floor."_

_He can see Kirkland go red as Francis laughs, the Englishman's annoyance with the comment mirroring his own. He knows better than to let Prussia's comment affect him visibly though._

_The Prussian is leaning against back wall of the room. He can feel the arrogance (which, frankly, is much more noticeable than his own) practically rolling in waves off the albino, with his cocky smile and proud red eyes._

"_You shut your mouth Prussia. Let's just sign this damn thing and get it over with" _

_Kirkland recovers from his embarrassment quickly, snapping at Prussia and pushing Francis (who has draped himself over the Englishman's shoulders) off himself._

"_Patience, mon cher Arthur."_

"_Kirkland is right. I would much prefer to have this document signed as quickly as possible."_

"_So eager to leave, Roddy?"_

"_Don't call me that."_

"_Aw, but we're friends now. I mean, we'll be friend once we sort out this whole treaty thing. I think we've spent enough time together to use first names."_

"_We are not friends."_

"_You're just mad that I whooped your ass, and that you have to give the awesome me Silesia!"_

_The Prussian's words are so laced with confidence that it becomes hard to keep his own face impassive. Prussia is quick to notice the crack in his cold front, and he curses himself for letting his guard slip._

"_Hey, ice queen. Anyone ever told you you're sexy when you're angry?"_

_The sooner he leaves the room, the sooner he never has to see that stupid Prussian ever again._

_**July, 1868**_

"I'm fine. I just came to see..."

It is too soon, simply too soon to see Gilbert. He knows it, Elizaveta knows it… so why was Gibert here?

"You know what... forget it."

In that moment the world seems to stop turning and he cannot take a step, cannot take a breath. In the halls of his own home he finds himself trapped. He can choose to turn away now, avoid the confrontation that is sure to occur… but doing that would be too let Gilbert walk away, leave his home and never come back.

Instead he just stands there, another statue to line the halls.

A statue who has run out the clock and has been forced to stop pretending, to answer the call of its own name.

He knows he will regret it though.

Two years is not enough time for a shattered heart to heal, no matter how hard he acts like it has.

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**The War of Austrian Succession occurred between 1740 and 1748 (you guys should know this, it was covered by Himaruya XD. The Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle was signed to end the war. Basically, it was negotiated so that everything after the war would go back to the way it was, aside from a few territorial changes. Austria acknowledged Prussia's conquest of the region of Silesia, and gave the Duchy of Parma, Piacenza and Guastalla to Spain, along with some Italian territory. France pretty much came out of the war having gained nothing, due to Louis XV. He wanted to be seen as generous, so withdrew from the Austrian Netherlands, and returned all of his conquests. The French were not ok with this, but the rest of Europe appreciated it, meaning France gained a lot of political influence.  
The scenes from 1868 in this chapter cross over with **_**Someone Like You**_**. Again, it might be good for you to read that in order to understand this! :) **


	2. Part Two

**AN:**** I am actually about 45 minutesfrom my last exam! I am so so close to finished, but I feel sick and aaaaagh I'm panicking now sijfhbaukjsf I have been so so so so busy, with my choir and exams and projects and I'M SO SORRY**

**DISCLAIMER: ****Neither Hetalia nor Turning Tables is the property of myself. Both belong to their respective owners.**

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**Part Two**

**_1761_**

_Yet another war rages, and once again he is in the middle of it. Some are saying that this war is merely a continuation of the last._

_He has to agree. _

_The last war changed his country. His armies are stronger, more organized. His military strength has been built up once again after many humiliating defeats at the hands of the Prussians._

_Yet his Empress still fights on._

_"Bring back Silesia."_

_Her words echo in his head as he rides, surveying the aftermath of the latest bout of bloodshed. His horse's hooves are sinking into the mud with every step it takes, but he rides on._

_There are men lying all around him (not just his men... there are many Prussians, some Englishmen, even Russians), some calling for help, others silent in their pain. Many are dying, and yet he just rides past them, bruised and battered on his white horse. It could be worse. Austria has come out on top today, even with so many injured._

_Besides, there is nothing he can do for them now._

_He should be used to death by now, having been a Nation for so long, but it doesn't get easier. Each life snatched away is another burden to bear, another wound to wear. For those same reasons, it is not easy for him to kill, not easy for him to have the blood of an enemy soldier on his hands and to ride past the body of someone he has stabbed. He hates the knowledge that they are someone he has stolen the life of._

_He is not used to it, even though he should be, but he has learnt to ignore the feelings._

_"Hey, piano man. You're just going to leave them all to rot?"_

**_July 1868_**

"You know what... forget it."

"He's not home."

Elizaveta has given him the perfect opportunity to turn and walk away. But he can't.

He won't.

"Elizaveta? Prussia?"

He prays to God that Gil-Prussia has not heard the catch in his voice, cannot see how hard it is for him to hide the mix of emotions that boiled under his cool exterior and threatened to spill over and burn the both of them.

"I was just leaving."

There it is. That horrible heart-wrenching bitterness and pain underneath Prussia's attempt at a neutral tone.

"You don't have to go."

It's almost too easy to say that line, brush off Prussia's presence like he does with so many other things.

"I see I've interrupted a chat between yourself and my wife."

He can't stop himself from attempting to regain his composure. He takes a step towards Elizaveta, who backs away. She looks at him, and he can't help but be reminded of how much he depends on her sometimes. At this moment she is the wall between he and Prussia, and she needs to stay.

"No. Roderich, I'll go. You need..."

She can't just leave him here… she can't.

"…you and Gilbert need to talk."

With that she (who always knows what to say, always knows what to do) is gone, ignoring his silent plea for her to stay with him and stop him from saying something irrational and stupid.

"Come to gloat?"

Too late. He didn't mean it _that _way, did he? The instant the words escape his lips he can see that Prussia's emotions have turned a hundred and eighty degrees.

"Don't fool yourself, Roddy."

He stops himself from flinching at the nickname.

"I'm not here for you."

He has always been like that. Able to switch from one extreme to the next in the space of a second. One moment, he was the distraught visitor… the next he was an obnoxious bastard.

He'd never been able to keep up with how Prussia turned the tables.

**_1761_**

_The shout comes from behind him. Wheeling his horse around, he turns to see a figure dressed in the dark blue Prussia military uniform, on a horse of his own._

_Prussia? Instinctively his eyes narrow. _

_"What are you doing here? This battle is over."_

_Surely he hasn't come back for some ridiculous one on one duel? No, not even he would come back after such a decisive defeat._

_In the background behind Prussia, he can see more men in uniforms. He can't make out what they are doing, only that they are moving swiftly, with some sort of a purpose. They seem to be heading towards _

_"I'm not here to fight."_

_"…"_

_ "You don't believe me? Don't get all high and mighty. I'm not here for you. I'm here for them."_

_It takes him a moment to realize that the 'them' Prussia is referring to are the corpses and doomed soldiers left behind on the battlefield. It seems the Prussian officers he can see are approaching the fallen soldiers, lifting up those who still have some life in them._

_"But… why?"_

_He does not mean for the words to come out so callous and cruel hearted. He I truly curious as to the Prussian's reasoning. _

_Prussia has been around just as long as he has. He knows the game, he knows the outcomes._

_He knows how war works._

_"They're my men. I want them to live."_

_"You've already doomed them by being in this war. It is the nature of the battlefield, is it not? Those who are injured are left behind and left to fend for themselves. If you can not risk the lives of your men, then why do you keep fighting?"_

_"And give up? Never! I could ask you the same question. You know I never realized how much fight you had in that prissy little head of yours."_

_Prussia smirks as he says the line, before his face hardens. There is a strange look in his red eyes that he has never seen before._

_"We fight for the same reasons, you know. We're Nations, through and through. We have no other way of getting what we want, what our bosses want. We'll live our entire lives on the battlefield. We will see our people live for us, fight for us, and die for us, and in the end it'll all be for nothing because we'll just keep fighting the same fights, over and over again. Why? Because we can't escape war, not when we all want the same things, and not when our bosses all want the same power. It's the sad truth, but it's the only truth. So why do I come back for the men you say I've doomed? Because if they're going to fight for my cause, I sure as hell am not going to let them give up their lives if there is even the smallest chance they can be saved."_

_He can't bring himself to muster a reply. This is… this is a different side of Prussia, something other than the boisterous arrogant fool he has always believed Prussia to be. It's intriguing and he can't help but notice how serious Prussia is._

_It takes him a moment to remember how to stop staring, but even then he can't seem to look away._

_He keeps watching even as Prussia rides away, stuck where he is, eyes on the Prussian's back._

_Why?_

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**The flashback in this chapter takes part during the Seven Years War. Before the late 1700s, injured soldiers would generally be left on the battlefield to die. I don't know very much about 18****th**** Century battle tactics, so please excuse me for any errors. The piano was invented in the early 1700s, possibly as early as 1700. I imagine Roderich would have had one quite early on, and if not, he definitely would have had its predecessor, the harpsichord.**


	3. Part Three

**AN:**** All my apologies. I've had some issues preventing me from writing. **

**DISCLAIMER: ****Neither Hetalia nor Turning Tables is the property of myself. Both belong to their respective owners.**

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**Part Three**

**_August, 1864_**

_"It's over, Denmark. Prussia and I have won."_

_He is careful not to let a small, condescending smile creep onto his face, as the defeated Dane scowls up at him._

_As much as he hates to fight, he does enjoy being victorious. The accompanying rush of power and control… it is pure exhilaration._

_He turns from Denmark to call for a guard._

_"You there. Make sure he stays down."_

_"Right away, sir!"_

_The two soldiers he has called are quick in their movements, wasting no time at all in stooping down and securing Denmark. The blond Nation makes no attempt to escape. There is little point._

_He feels like it has been altogether too long since he has won a war. There have been a lot of defeats in his past… many of them stemming from them very Nation that stands at his side, sharing this particular glory._

_If he had been asked a century ago whether he and Prussia would ever be on the same side, he would have scoffed at the ridiculousness of the question. But now, here they were._

_"Thank you."_

_For a split second, he allows himself to smile at the Prussia, who is silent._

_How odd. He had expected Prussia to be gloating; mocking the Dane like Prussia had mocked him every time he was beaten._

_But no. The Prussian is just watching him, with an odd expression that he can't quite place. The look in his red eyes is curious, almost disbelieving._

_"Is something wrong, Prussia?"_

_The Prussian shakes his head, though he does not lose that vague, searching expression._

_"Nothing."_

_Prussia grins, and the sight surprises him. He doesn't know why. Perhaps it is because the gesture is so completely sincere, not filled with malice or derision as the smiles he is usually graced with are._

_"Everything… everything's perfect."_

_He can't help but notice the way Prussia's eyes seem to be locked on his own._

**_30th October, 1864_**

_Peace at last. Thank God that the fighting has stopped._

_He knows for sure that it is over because of the vague ghost of a melody in his mind. When he is fighting, he finds his creative ability sapped. _

_How is one to create soundscapes of beauty when all one can see is bloodshed?_

_The melody has been a lingering presence since the treaty signing earlier in the day. From the moment the ink dried on the paper, and the war officially ended, the melody has been there._

_It drifts, formless as he makes his way through the large ballroom in his home, in which Prussia's dignitaries, and his own, are celebrating their victory. He struggles to grasp it, shuts out the world in his focus. _

_He finds himself on the floor in an instant, after a collision with another person. A hand reaches down to help him up, and he grasps it, allowing himself to be pulled back to his feet._

_"My apologies. I was a bit wrapped up in my thoughts." he says as he composes himself. He looks up to meet the gaze of a smirking Prussia. Oddly enough, the man does not appear to be irritated._

_"Oh."_

_"It's all good." _

_Prussia seems distracted, subdued even. His red eyes dart constantly away, glancing at anything but him. Prussia pulls his hand away quickly._

_"Can't have the party host stuck on their ass after a fall, right?"_

_"Right…"_

_He furrows his eyebrows, contemplating whether to question Prussia on this strange mood. His decision is made for him when in that instant, the melody grows stronger._

_"Excuse me."_

_He brushes Prussia off quickly, rushing out of the ballroom and to his own study. But by the time he arrives, the tune has faded again, a fleeting inspiration gone._

_He doesn't know how long he sits there, pen gripped tightly in one hand as he reaches for the notes which constantly escape him._

_They torment him, dissipating smoke through his fingers._

_Night has fallen by the time he is interrupted. _

_"Hey Austria."_

_He looks up from yet another failed transcription to see Prussia in the doorway. The moonlight shining through the open window reflects off the man's silver-white hair, a bright point in otherwise silhouetted figure._

_"Yes, Prussia?" _

_He is too tired to be frustrated at the other Nation barging into his study._

_"I…" _

_Prussia's mouth opens, only for his sentence to trail into nothing. _

_It occurs to him that it is late, very late, and that Prussia should not be here at all. He narrows his eyes, focusing on Prussia's face. The man does not appear to be intoxicated, or mischievous, but aside from that…_

_"Why are you still here?" he asks, single eyebrow quirking upwards. "You're free to go home Prussia. The Treaty has been signed and the celebration is over."_

_"I..." _

_Again, the peculiar lack of words._

_ "I don't know." says Prussia, after what feels like an age._

_"Then go home." _

_He replies with a sigh, looking back down and making another attempt at notation._

_He is not expecting to hear footsteps approaching him, not expecting to hear the sounds of crumpled manuscript being crushed as it is stepped on._

_He is certainly not expecting Prussia to grab his arm and ruin his work._

_"What are you doing?" he cries in exasperation, scowling at Prussia as he stands up to face him. The Prussian smiles back at him, as if he has had some sort of revelation. _

_"Go home, Pr-"_

_His words are cut off when he feels lips on his own, the grip on his arm tightening and for a second he freezes._

_But then his arms move of their own volition, looping around Prussia's neck, dropping his pen to the ground with an audible clink._

_ As he kisses back, the surprise wears off and suddenly, the notes of that incessant tune are clear. He can hear every one, each elusive chord progression, every interval._

_One by one, note by note, he hears it all._

_And so he gives in to the music._

**_July 1868_**

There is a terrible conflict in Prussia's eyes, some inner conflict that the man can't seem to quell. The darkness in those red eyes scares him, for it has never brought good things.

He can't think about this though. Their present situation, the events about to take place – this is the more pressing issue.

Prussia takes a step forward slowly, hesitantly, as if his own body is rebelling. His mind flicks back to Elizaveta, his beautiful, level-headed, _strong _Elizaveta who could – no. As much as he wishes she were here, he knows that she would not interfere.

He stands his ground as Prussia gets closer, and closer, until he can almost feel the Prussian's breath.

He _can't _back down.

**_31st October, 1864_**

_The tune almost writes itself._

_The melody was in the lines of his body, the rhythm in each subtle movement the Prussian made. Each cadence was in his smile, in his laugh._

_Or at least, it had to have been. How else can what had been so elusive, now flow out of his mind so fast that his fingers can barely catch up? _

_There is a knock at the door, and he freezes. His fingers falter and the music comes to an abrupt stop. He turns around, and sees that his visitor has taken that as an invitation to open the door._

_"Hey."_

_Prussia stands there, one hand smoothing back his messy hair, the other stifling a yawn. His white wrinkled shirt is only half buttoned, like he's picked it up off the floor and thrown it on. _

_"Good morning."_

_He's not quite sure what to say with Prussia right there. He's still confused about how things had led to this. An awkward silence hangs in the air._

_"It's always a bit freaky waking up alone in an unfamiliar place. Not that I haven't done it before." _

_The attempt at a joke is accompanied with a smirk, one which is just the slightest shade uneasy. _

_"Still, you got up early."_

_"I had… inspiration." _

_"It's beautiful."_

_He blinks at the comment._

_"Pardon?"_

_"Whatever that is you're playing. It's beautiful."_

_It's you. You're beautiful._

_"Pru-"_

_"Gilbert."_

_"Gilbert… thank you."_

_He smiles at the Prussian, who for a second looks stunned. Gilbert's surprised expression is quickly replaced with his own smile. It's amazing when he smiles properly, arrogant demeanor only adding to the expression, rather than defining it. Gilbert's whole face softens. It's a change he would never have noticed before… before what, exactly?_

_ "Don't mention it." Gilbert says as he walks into the room, and stands next to him as he keeps his seat at the piano. "Got any more?"_

_The question surprises him. He's never known Gilbert to be one for classical music – though Prussia has produced its fair share of great musicians._

_Gilbert notices his hesitation._

_"You okay? I can leave, if you really want me to?"_

_Gilbert's tone is something he's never heard before._

_It's sincerity, complete and utter sincerity. _

_A little illogical part of him panics at the thought of Gilbert leaving. This piece… this song… it's his._

_"Stay. Please, Gilbert… stay."_

* * *

**Beethoven was born in Bonn, which became a part of the Kingdom of Prussia in 1815 and was, at the time of his birth, actually part of the Holy Roman Empire. I am so sorry I suck let's never be parted again feel free to rant at me with a review telling me how much I suck kthx**


	4. Part Four

**AN:**** Hey everyone! Sorry about the wait for this. Wow I'm always apologizing. Anyway, here's the chapter.**

**DISCLAIMER: ****Neither Hetalia nor Turning Tables is the property of myself. Both belong to their respective owners.**

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**Part Four**

**_July 1865_**

_He doesn't know what this is._

_8 months of this and he can't define it, can't put a label on whatever the hell he and Gilbert have become._

_He only knows that he's happy - deliriously, illogically, ridiculously so – and from what he can see, Gilbert is happy too._

_Or at least, he was – the Prussian man had arrived in his home last night, not angry, but clearly uncomfortable. He had seen the look in his eyes before, only never in these circumstances, never when Gilbert is not in a battle of some kind. _

_A look into the silvered-glass mirror shows him the red marks that blossom across his neck, the mottled bruises on his arms from fingertips grasped unusually tightly._

_"I'm sorry." _

_He doesn't hear Gilbert come in, only sees the man's reflection in the mirror. Gilbert stands awkwardly away from him, almost afraid to come closer._

_"It's nothing. I'm not hurt." _

_He beckons for the Prussian to approach him, and Gilbert complies, stepping closer and gingerly wrapping his arms around his waist. _

_"I know… Still -"_

_"Tell me what happened yesterday, Gilbert."_

_He sees Gilbert's eyes widen as he stares at the man's reflection in the mirror. _

_"It's not important, Roddy."_

_"Something upset you."_

_"No it didn't."_

_"Yes it did."_

_"I don't get upset. I'm way too awesome to get upset!"_

_"Gilbert...?"_

_He says the name as softly as possible, leaving an unspoken question hanging in the air._

_They stand for what feels like an age, waiting for an answer._

_"I spoke to Antonio yesterday."_

_"Oh."_

**_July 1868_**

"So, Liz huh?"

_"So… Hapsburg Spain, huh?"_

It is obvious from the uncomfortable way Prussia sneers when saying her name. He's heard that tone before.

It's about her. Or rather, how in his eyes, she's replaced him.

**_July 1865_**

_Gilbert tenses as he says Antonio's name. _

_"So… Hapsburg Spain, huh?"_

_"You look hurt."_

_"No I'm not. Why would I be hurt? I'm too awesome, remember? Way too awesome to be hurt by something as stupid as you having fucked one of my two best friends like forever ago. Roddy, please. I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I'm awesome!"_

_Gilbert's words start running into each other and his tone becomes gradually more and more frantic._

_He can feel the Prussian's chest rise as he takes deep breaths after his little speech._

**_July 1868_**

"Congratu-fucking-lations."

He feels his eyes narrowing, but he keeps them locked on Prussia's. He wonders how much of this is anger, how much is jealousy...

How much of Gil- Prussia's actions are brought on by pain?

No. He dismisses the thought quickly. Prussia's actions are a force of nature now, no longer controlled by the man himself. He can't start questioning Prussia's intentions. It will only lead to him questioning his own.

**_July 1865_**

_"What do you expect me to say?" he replies, bring a hand up and placing it on the arm wrapped around him. _

_"…"_

_Gilbert is silent. Perhaps he has run out of words?_

_"It was a long time ago. You said it yourself." _

_So he chooses his own words carefully._

_"Still." _

_Gilbert shrugs, biting his lip. He has lost his momentum from earlier._

_"It was politics, Gilbert. A political union."_

_"That doesn't make it any less real."_

_Gilbert's grip around him tightens a little as his face grows dark._

_"Did you love him?"_

_"Do you really want to know?"_

_Gilbert blinks. He feels the Prussian's arms drop from around his waist and he turns to face him._

_He's frowning, eyes unreadable._

_"It depends on your answer, doesn't it Roddy?"_

_They stand there, face to face, in anticipation until one of them says something._

_"I don't love him now."_

_At that instant, Gilbert sighs, releasing the breath he didn't know the Prussian was holding. Gilbert's arms go around him again and he smiles as he is almost crushed in his embrace._

_He smiles. For now, at least, Gilbert is happy - deliriously, illogically, ridiculously so – and from what he can feel, he is too._

**_July 1868_**

"I don't think it'll last, personally. You don't love her."

He grits his teeth. Baseless accusations, designed to get to him.

Prussia will say anything at this point. Is this why he's here? Prussia has always been able to make him angry, pull a reaction out of him.

He won't give him the satisfaction.

"What would you know about love?" he says, as quietly and controlled as possible.

"You love me."

"I despise you."

On some level, he knows this isn't true. But on another, he believes it with his whole heart.

"No... no you don't. Otherwise you wouldn't still be in this room."

He winces as Prussia leans in a little closer. From the truth in Prussia's words, or from the ever decreasing distance between them, he doesn't know.

"You wouldn't let me be here... or are you just too much of a weakling to kick me out?"

His eyes narrow. Suddenly, it's too hard to breathe and he has to concentrate all too much on moving air in and out of his lungs. Inside his head, there's a voice telling him to run, get out of this room right now.

But he can't.

Fight or flight.

He knows what he will choose.

"No answer? Well..."

Prussia smiles – no, that's not a smile. It's much too twisted, just a pulling up of the corners of Prussia's mouth. The man is preparing something malicious.

_Block it out._

"The Austrian Empire... how the hell did someone like you become so powerful anyway? You sure gave up those duchies quickly, didn't you?"

He fights the instinct to run, clenching one hand into a fist. His fingers scrunch together, and the pain stop him from losing focus as Prussia dredges up the past, throwing a twisted view of history into his face as hard as possible.

_Block it out._

"Remember when I seized Silesia? Damn that was easy. You could barely fend me off... of course, even back then you had Liz to help you out..."

His nails start to dig deeper and deeper into his palm, breaking the skin as Prussia mentions Elizaveta. He can hear nothing but Prussia's poison filled words and the laboured sound of his own heartbeat.

_Block out his words._

Prussia's voice is getting louder and he himself is getting angrier. Each word seems to hit something inside him, a storm of little needles making him bleed. They all hit their mark, wounding him deeply, but still he doesn't react.

He can tell that his silence is only fuelling Prussia, feeding the frenzy that the man is going into.

_Block out his words. Keep controlled._

"Because you're nothing on your own without someone strong on your side, are you? Well? She isn't here to help you now!"

Prussia is screaming, face contorted into some horrible semblance of his normally beautiful face. His rage is clear, having built up and come to a point.

He wants to scream too.

It hurts too much

**_October 1865_**

_Gilbert's not there when he wakes up._

_For a second he panics, before he hears the voices drifting through from the corridor outside. He sits up, grabbing the glasses on the bedside table and putting them on._

_"…trade agreement with Sweden. You'll… go there immediately. They are …brink of sign … contract."_

_He recognizes the voice as Gilbert's favourite messengers, a young man by the name of Bastien, or something like that._

_""Seriously?"_

_From the sound of his voice, he can tell that Gilbert is pleasantly surprised." _

_"Right Bastien my man, go get one of the cooks to make you breakfast or something. The awesome me will meet you in half an hour to go to the great north."_

_Gilbert comes bounding back into the bedroom as he processes the words. He is grinning._

_""A trade agreement with Sweden?" he asks, cocking his head to the side as he looks at Gilbert. The man ignores the question._

_"Woke up before you today!" Gilbert exclaims, before slamming the door and rushing towards him. _

_"It had to happen eventually." he replies dismissively, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow._

_"What is going on with Sweden? It's the Zollverein isn't it?"_

_"Don't worry about it Roddy." Gilbert smiles widely in reponse to his frown, waving a hand. "It's got nothing to do with Austria."_

_No. This had everything to do with Austria._

_"A trade agreement with Sweden will open up the huge Scandinavian market. It will be fantastic for your economy, won't it Gilbert?"_

_"Don't be a baby Roderich." Gilbert shrugs his shoulders, refusing to broach the subject. "Get over it. Austria's not in the Zollverein, and never has been. Deal with it."_

_"Please. I'm not jealous of your little club Gilbert. I just..." _

_The Zollverein... damn Prussia's little coalition of German states. It would be a disaster for his already weakening economy if Sweden signed a trade agreement with him. With his trade industry so exclusive, he hadn't joined the Zollverein, and his decision seemed about to bite him._

_Things were not looking good for Austria, and being excluded from the Scandinavian market would only hurt his country more. _

_At least Gilbert would be getting something good out of it, even though Austria's economy would-_

_"Roddy? Roderich? Hey! Don't ignore the awesome me when I talk to you!" Gilbert interrupts his train of thought, snapping him back into reality._

_"I apologise. I'm a little unwell." he replies, a little shaken. "As I was saying, I am just concerned for Austria's economy. That's all."_

_"You're just mad that if old Berwald signs the agreement with me, I'm going to have more money then you!" Gilbert taunts back, before realising what he's said._

_He feels his own eyes narrowing, and a sudden urge to shout at Gilbert. Austria's economy, and therefore his own health, had nothing to do with the Prussian! So what if he was a little shaky at the moment? _

_He stands to stand up as Gilbert backs away, his red eyes wide like a child who has said the wrong thing. He opens his mouth to yell at the Prussian when he's interrupted._

_"I love you." _

_Gilbert says the words quickly, breaking out into a smile before diving forward and kissing him. He pulls back and walks nonchalantly towards the door, leaving him sitting there in shock, anger forgotten._

_It's hard to stay mad at him sometimes._

_"I love you too."_

_He whispers the words in reply just as Gilbert leaves the room. There's no way he's heard them. The Prussian doesn't turn back, and he doesn't go after him._

_It is more that he needs to hear them himself, actually let the words past his lips._

_Love. Maybe that's what this is._

* * *

**A quick note to inform you all that I have a Tumblr where you can ask me questions or complain, or just fangirl with me! I'm not 100% happy with the chapter, so, meh. Most of the information/ backstory can be found in ****_SLY._******


	5. Part Five

**AN:**** I think this may be the fastest I've ever really cranked out a chapter! **

**DISCLAIMER: ****Neither Hetalia nor Turning Tables is the property of myself. Both belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

**Part Five**

**_July 1868_**

"Admit it Roderich... ADMIT IT!"

Prussia's face is so close to his own as he shouts in his face. He can see that insane bloodlust like look. He seems crazed.

_"Why? Why the hell would you think I could kill you?"_

_"Why the hell wouldn't I?"_

It's the Kingdom of Prussia in all his glory, just like before. But again, he won't back down. Prussia can scream and shout all he wants, and no matter how much each word affects him, he won't do a thing but stand rigid.

Prussia's words are an onslaught, battering at him, trying to break him down. But then the verbal attack suddenly becomes a physical one as he feels Prussia's lips crash into his own.

His instincts kick in and he can't take this anymore, can't handle not fighting back.

He brings up the fist he's been clenching and smashes into the side of Prussia's face. Prussia staggers back and looks up at him, cheek reddening and eyes wide.

He's not sure what hurts him more, his hand, the words that have already been said or that look on Gilbert's face as he pushes him away.

In that moment of impact, Prussia becomes Gilbert, and _oh god _he loves Gilbert.

But not like this. Not when Gilbert can give in to Prussia so easily.

If only he hadn't come today. He should have stayed away, should've just left him alone.

He was happy with Elizaveta. He is happy with Elizaveta and Gilbert's presence here only hurts him.

This is wrong.

**_22_****_nd_****_ July 1866_**

_How had it come to this?_

_The question crosses his mind as he narrows his eyes, estimating the number of Prussian and Italian soldiers present. Their army is large, but that doesn't scare him._

_He has faced worse. He can still win this._

_He can see Gilbert at the head of the army, resplendent in his uniform, and slips back into the crowd of his own soldiers before he is seen in return._

_He hasn't actually fought the man face to face yet. It's only a matter of time though._

_Not that that makes the thought any less pleasant. _

_Christmas. It began at Christmas. _

_No. _

_Christmas had been horrendous, but it was merely a turning point. He had realized then that change was coming – a shift in the delicate balance or European politics… and in the fragile relationship born of an alliance._

_Then, he refused to accept it, and held tightly to something that was fated to culminate in bloodshed, because while it tore him up, it made him happy._

_How very masochistic._

_This war would be the end. On the surface, the last few weeks of fighting have been merely a territorial dispute over a few duchies._

_But there's more. It's personal, and he knows it, Gilbert knows it… the whole of Europe understands that this war is more than just a custody battle._

_He takes a deep breath, barely listening as a commanding officer near him relays a message from his boss. He nods briefly and orders him away, steeling himself as he makes the signal to begin._

_The smell of gunpowder hits his nose as one of his cannons fires the first shot, and he pushes his thoughts out of his mind._

_There is only himself, his horse, and his men._

_He shouts to his faithful army as they charge, channeling his own emotions into exclamations and encouragements as he makes his way to the head of the army. He hears his men roar and he smiles, letting go of his composure and drowning any remaining personal thoughts in a rush of adrenalin._

_He hates to kill, but he must. He tries to forget that with each movement of his sword, he has taken another life. Somewhere in the fray, an Italian stabs his horse, and he is forced to dismount, hardening his heart towards the sounds of the dying animal's pain._

_He has to keep focused, because he can tell that his army losing. The Prussians (and the Italians) have overwhelmed his troops, and it is not looking good._

_He tries to forget that fact and keep fighting, keep slashing and stabbing, but he knows he can't win a war on his own. _

_The battling crowd seems to get thinner and thinner the longer he fights, until finally, he realizes that he is alone._

_Well, almost._

_"So, here we are."_

_Gilbert stands in front of him, eyes dark, bloody sword extended towards him. He pushes down the sudden anger that starts to boil, disguising it with a facade of indifference. _

_"This is... this is the end, isn't it Gilbert?" he says, eyes narrowed. _

_In a heartbeat, Gilbert charges towards him and he reacts quickly, blocking his sword. The force of the blow is strong, but he remains on his feet._

_"I guess it is. For you, anyway."_

_Gilbert grins as he says those challenging words. He is surprised and confused to see the vaguest hint of real happiness present within the Prussian's red eyes._

_"Oh please, Gilbert."_

_He raises an eyebrow, and that is enough to spark a real fight. Gone is any semblance of proper technique or etiquette. The mood has changed._

_This is a feud of emotions. He lets his sword speak for him, releasing all his rage, his sadness. Every problem he has had... every taunt he has heard... this fight is the end._

_He can sense the Prussian's bloodlust rising, and he realises just how deadly their situation is. The caustic air surrounding the Prussian now is almost unbearable, and for a millisecond, he falters._

_Gilbert knocks the sword out of his hand and before he can fully comprehend it, he is caught. _

_He can feel the cold steel of the Prussian's sword pressed to his neck. The man's other arm is wrapped around him incredibly tightly, crushing his chest._

_He thought he knew Gilbert's strength, but now he knows that he has underestimated the Prussian. _

_It hits him only now that the foundations for this fight were built long ago. Europe has always been a battleground of power hungry nations, forever fighting amongst themselves to prove their own superiority. The Austrian Empire has been powerful for a long time._

_Every empire must fall, or so they say._

_It was only natural that that power wielded by his nation was wanted by others. It could have been any other nation that grew in power, any other European nation that decided to challenge the status quo. _

_He wishes it had been any other nation._

_"Well then Gilbert. It seems you've won, haven't you?" he chokes out. "Go on then. Kill me and take Schleswig. It's all that you care about, isn't it?"_

_The hand holding the sword seems to shake for a second, an almost imperceptible tremor. Gilbert hesitates, before pressing his sword a little harder on his neck. The blade breaks the skin, drawing blood, but he doesn't budge._

_He can feel Gilbert's breath on the back of his neck. It's laboured, heavy, and he tenses. Killer intent rolls off the Prussian in waves and he closes his eyes as prepares for his empire to fall. The sharp steel digs a little deeper and -_

_"Ceasefire! Ceasefire everyone!"_

_His eyes flicker open._

_The blade at his neck drops and Gilbert's arm loosens. _

_He falls, crumpling downwards in a mix of relief and anger. He turns his head upwards, ignoring the stinging pain at his neck. Gilbert looks down at him, face contorted in horror. _

_"Why?" asks Gilbert. "Why the hell would you think I could kill you?"_

_For power. For glory._

_Because they are Nations._

_Because his empire must fall._

_ Because all things must come to an end._

_He can't say these things, so he simply says the only thing that will enable him to leave defeated, but with some semblance of dignity intact._

_"Why the hell wouldn't I?"_

_He stands up gingerly, brushing the dirt from his coat and walks away, cursing the unsteadiness of his own legs. He leaves his own sword stuck in the dirt behind him._

_He hears the sound of metal clanging to the ground and a thump as Gilbert falls to his knees._

**_July 1868_**

He can barely speak as they stare each other down. His heart races and he grits his teeth to calm himself down.

Prussia wins. He got his reaction, didn't he?

His fist doesn't unclench as he gathers his nerves, and the words come out by themselves.

"Never. Touch me. Again."

For a moment he just glares, letting the words sink in before he walks out slowly, slamming the door behind him.

In the hallway he freezes, and feels his whole body start to shake. He can feel the bile rising from his stomach and his tongue is heavy in his bitter dry mouth.

His head is in a mess, and it takes everything he has not to break down right there, right outside that room, knowing that Gilbert – no, that's not Gilbert, that's Prussia, only Prussia - is there on the other side of the door and everything is _wrong._

So he runs.

* * *

**An interesting thing I've noticed. This story has less than 10 times the views of ****_SLY. _****I found that really intriguing actually! Poor Roderich, I guess people just aren't as interested in his point of view… I kid, of course :)  
So, I've got 3 weeks until I go on study leave for my proper exams! Hopefully I'll get this story done by then, and be able to start on a project I've been working on for a while. Fingers crossed!**


	6. Part Six

**AN:**** I'm ****_supposed _****to be studying right now, but I am too intimidated by my stack of books. I've had major writer's block on this chapter, but I have now completed it!**

**DISCLAIMER: ****Neither Hetalia nor Turning Tables is the property of myself. Both belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

**Part Six**

**_July 22_****_nd_****_ 1866_**

_All's fair in love and war._

_He ponders the thought as he sits in the water. The dirt and grime from the battle has been washed away, but he feels like he is still marked. The dirt goes beneath the skin, deeper than the mere surface layer. No matter how hard he scrubs, he can't get rid of the feeling of the battle._

_All's fair in love and war – and yet he has heard love described as a battlefield._

_Love equalling warfare. He can see how one could come to that conclusion. _

_He himself is not so sure. The two are interlinked; at least, they are when one is a Nation. It is the way it has always been, the way it will always be._

_God knows that everything he has ever loved, or come close to loving, has led him to bloodshed._

_He is angry. Oh so angry. Only now, he realises that anger, and pain, and sorrow – they are feelings that cloud the mind._

_He can't afford to be bitter._

_It is simply his – no, their unlucky fate. They are Nations, mere political tools to be used and controlled. No matter how much power they seemingly hold, they truly have no grasp over the one thing that he has heard humans say makes life worthwhile. There is no room for personal emotion in the life of Nation, not when they are fated to be stuck in an entire cycle of their countries wars. _

_When you live your life for your people, you can't live your life for yourself._

_He has been around long enough to know this. Gilbert has been around long enough to know this._

_The water must be cold now, but he can barely feel a thing. He's numb to it all, focusing every thought now on rebuilding his mental barriers (the ones which Gilbert tore away so skilfully, so quickly, leaving his every sentiment exposed). _

_He's safer when he keeps his emotions under lock and key._

_All of a sudden, he is exhausted. His entire body hurts, head to toe, and he is too tired to even think. He's tired of this, tired of living with the weight of hundreds of years and millions of people on his shoulders._

_He closes his eyes and lets his head sink slowly under the chilly water._

_The sharp sting of inhaled water forces him back up for air, and he is throw painfully back into reality._

_He starts to cough, forcing the water out of his lungs and replacing it with cold air. Suddenly he notices the temperature of the water and he shivers._

_He is not ready to fall._

**_1868_**

His footsteps seem to echo as he flees blindly through the hallways. His breath catches as he turns a corner and enters through a door that calls to him, slamming it closed behind him.

He catches his breath, leaning heavily on the door, and closes his eyes. He can feel his heart beating out an erratic military tattoo in his chest. It rises and he can hear every beat, each distinct pulse.

It reminds him of war.

Composing himself, he locks the door, before coming to grips with where he has run to.

It's his music room. In any other situation, he would have snorted at the predictability. Of course his feet would take him running towards this sanctuary, to lose himself in Handel and Bach.

His legs feel unsteady as he walks over to the piano and he sinks into the seat before it. He finds his hands lifting up to the keyboard, but he can't bring himself to play a note, so he forces them back down to his side.

All the while his heart keeps up the two-four rhythm in his chest.

He's not sure how long he sits there, staring at the expanse of black and white keys, before the tentative knock on the door.

"Roderich?"

He takes a breath to answer but finds all words choking painfully in his throat. He bites the inside of his cheek, stopping the words from coming out as strangled sobs.

He fails.

"Roderich? Are you okay?"

Elizaveta's voice is worried, too worried. He grits his teeth, feeling the hateful sting of tears at the corner of his eyes, and blinks them away.

"It... It's nothing. Please, I'll be fine."

He knows that she doesn't believe him, but his wife knows him well enough to let him be.

Only when he hears her fading footsteps, does he allow himself to break.

**_July 22_****_nd_****_ 1866_**

_The melody plays in his mind, bass line and treble._

_His hair is still wet, so the cold night air will surely bring him a headache later on._

_He doesn't care._

_In his right hand he holds a few pages of sheet music, and he brings them upwards. His eyes work hard to read the carefully inked notes in the pale moonlight._

_There is a title written at the top of the first page, and he reads it out loud._

_"For Gilbert."_

_The words are carried off by the light wind that is blowing, and he turns his head as if to watch them go. _

_For Gilbert – and now, an elegy for himself. _

_He has spent the last few hours wrestling with his consciousness. He has never once fought so hard with himself, had so much difficulty making any sort of decision. It should have been easy – but for once, he couldn't make the logical choice._

_But he knows what he needs to do now._

_He lets go of the music, and unlike his words, the sheets are too heavy to be caught by this wind. They fall downwards, like ghostly white leaves from some ethereal tree, into the dark waters of the river. _

_'For Gilbert' floats for a few moments, white ink splatters on black paper, before being pulled into the depths._

* * *

**Oh dear. Reading back, clearly I didn't do my research thoroughly enough. The Austro-Prussian War of 1866 was declared by ****_Austria_****. I am sorry about that. Maybe we can just consider this an AU. The Wien (also the word for Vienna is German) is the river that flows through Vienna. I like to imagine that Roderich's house in Vienna overlooks it, because that image is pretty in my head.  
Next chapter is the epilogue. Should be written soonish, but I literally have my exams starting ****_tomorrow. _****Do tell me what you guys thought!**


	7. Part Seven

** AN:**** After 4 exams in a row, I needed creative outlet. Only four more to go (unfortunately, spread over two weeks)! We've reached the end of this story, and it's been an interesting ride.**

**DISCLAIMER: ****Neither Hetalia nor Turning Tables is the property of myself. Both belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

**Part Seven**

**_1868_**

He can feel the tear tracks on his face as he stares blankly at the piano before him. The glossy blackness seems to swallow him. Desperately he reaches out, and grips the keys. A discordant jangle of mismatched semitones clang out as he clings tightly, because _oh God he is going to fall._

It's pure coincidence that he manages to hit a chord, a familiar chord that rings cruelly in his ears and brings back a long abandoned melody. He begins to play by instinct, fingers moving in perfect positions, though he hasn't played it in years.

It occurs to him that he's only ever once played this for its namesake_._

_"Whatever that is you're playing. It's beautiful"_

**_March 1866_**

_Gilbert likes to watch him play the piano. He'd asked him why once, back at the beginning, but all he'd gotten out of the man was a cheeky smile and 'because it's sexy'. He'd replied with a scoff._

_"You can't use that as an answer for everything."_

_Gilbert had just grinned, slung an arm around his shoulders and rolled his eyes._

_"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true, Roddy."_

_He'd pretended to be offended. Inside, he smiled._

_Today, Gilbert had been in the room before him. He'd walked in, and the Prussian was there, rifling through sheet music._

_"This is a surprise."_

_Gilbert had turned around, look of guilt like a small child caught taking an extra sweet._

_"Hey. Just ignore me."_

_"Up to something?" _

_"Nothing. Just do your thing and hit the keys, piano man."_

_There had been no point pressing the issue further, so he had obliged, sitting down and running through the required scales and arpeggios, before playing the first piece he could think of._

_After a while, he had forgotten about Gilbert's presence and lost himself in the music._

**_1868_**

A droplet hits the keys with a silent splash, becoming a glistening dot on the ivory. He plays on, filling the air around him with song.

**_March 1866_**

_Usually Gilbert is silent, content to just stand and watch._

_But just this once, his concentration is broken._

_"You're a different person sometimes, you know."_

_His hands come to an immediate halt. Instantly, he puts up his guard, prepared for a conversation that goes south quickly. He is expecting another snide, passive-aggressive talk full of subtle insults or awkwardly avoided topics._

_He looks up at Gilbert. The Prussian is looking down, seemingly contemplating the colour of the grand piano, as he leans on it. _

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Do you realise what a jerk you are sometimes?"_

_"You interrupted me to insult me?"_

_"No. Wait. That's not what I meant."_

_Gilbert looks up, and he recognises that odd look. It's that same look from last October._

_Only not quite. It's something a little darker – whether the emotion in his red eyes is wistful, or loving, he can't tell._

_"I've never been good with words, but I don't think you are either. You act like a know-it-all pompous princess all of the time, with your big words. But how often can you actually find the words to say anything real?"_

_He furrows his eyebrows at Gilbert's statement and opens his mouth to reply. He is cut off._

_"But it's different when you play. It's like magic. All your emotions and dynamics and shit."_

_"It's how I was ta-"_

_"No way. No teacher can teach you to play like that. That's you, Roddy. The stick-up-his-ass, ice-queen disappears when you play. You're never more beautiful... more expressive then when you're at the piano, or the violin, or the cello. Fuck, you can turn any instrument in the world into magic, except your own damn voice."_

_"I can't tell if you're trying to compliment me or...?"_

_"It's confusing. Why?"_

_"Why, what?"_

_"Why is it that, you can't talk unless there's a piano there to do it for you?"_

**_1868_**

He pours every part of himself into the tune he plays. Every part splintered off his stone heart, every bitter piece of darkness bottled in his mind – it's in the harmonies and the way he sinks into the keys.

At the same time, he transfers beauty into the music. Along with the sadness and the anger and the hurt, there is Gilbert's laugh, and the sound of his voice and every memory.

He knows that he can't deal with them. He's never been one for grand displays of emotion.

The familiar tune nears the end, and he slows down, drawing out each set of quavers as fast as he can. The music stops and there is silence, but it no longer weighs down on his shoulders.

He feels empty. Rightfully so, as every part of him has become a part of transient melody. He doesn't know what this means for him.

There is only one thing he knows, as he sits in the empty room, the final chord of _his _elegy still lingering in the air.

The wounds on his half-healed heart were reopened today – but he knows that he must close them forever.

* * *

_Next time I'll be braver, I'll be my own saviour  
When the thunder calls for me  
Next time I'll be braver, I'll be my own saviour  
Standing on my own two feet_

_I can't keep up with your turning tables  
Under your thumb I can't breathe  
No I won't let you close enough to hurt me  
No I won't ask you, you to just desert me  
I can't give you  
What you think you gave me_

_It's time to say goodbye  
To turning tables_

* * *

**Wow... that's the end of _Turning Tables_. Thank you to all the readers who have stuck by me through this! I'm sorry this story wasn't as long as _SLY_ – Roderich is a very interesting character to write, but it's rather difficult to get into that pretty little head of his.  
Next up in this continuity will be _Set Fire to the Rain_, starring Hungary, due to a request from a friend of mine – though this may not come out for some time. Including that, I have three more stories with names and actual plots for Songverse, and a couple of ideas.  
I have a big story planned, though not a part of _Songverse. _It's not PruAus, but will be plenty dramatic (and both Gilbert and Roderich will feature)! It's actually a story that I've been planning for like a year, so I guess, look out for it soon?  
Do tell me your thoughts on the story. I really really enjoy hearing what you have to say!**


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